


1. Photograph

by TheMagicWord



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagicWord/pseuds/TheMagicWord
Summary: Louis sees a photo of Timothée Chalamet sitting on Harry's lap. He's not happy about it.





	1. Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Rather than doing NaNoWriMo this year, I decided to write a 500-ish word drabble every day. Various pairings coming up.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Louis dipped his head and looked up at Harry from under his fringe. 

“I…” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his rings cold against his skin. “It… wasn’t anything.” 

Louis tapped his phone screen with his index finger. 

“It fucking looks like something to me.” 

Harry glanced at the photo again, even though it was so burned into his retinas he could probably draw it from memory. It was all over Twitter. Harry, sitting on the front row of the Golden Globes, Timothée Chalamet sat in his lap. Chalamet was laughing, his head tipped back, revealing his throat. Harry’s head was lowered, his forehead resting on the other man’s shoulder. 

“It was literally just, like, a second. And then he got up again.” 

“But what I’m asking,” Louis said, looking down at his own hands, clenched against his thighs. “Is what he was doing there in the first place.” 

Harry licked his lips, not that it helped because his mouth was dry. “He stumbled.” 

“He stumbled,” Louis repeated. “Into your lap.” 

“Yeah. He, like, the carpet was rucked up.” 

Louis looked up at him then, his blue eyes wide and bright. 

“The carpet was rucked up. At the Golden Globes.”

Harry nodded. He knew Louis was pissed off that he hadn’t been able to go to the ceremony with him, but they’d had a plan. They’d meet after at the hotel and Harry would tell him all about it and Louis would say how proud he was and then they’d-- 

“Did you get hard?” 

Harry froze. “Um…” 

“It’s a simple question.” Louis was still staring at him, his eyes slightly narrowed. 

“No. Of course not. It was just--” 

“A second, I know.” He put his phone down on the coffee table. Face down. “Are you hard now?” 

Harry’s breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t been. But Louis’s voice, the look on his face, the fact that he was so clearly ridiculously jealous, well, he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t having an effect. 

“Gettin’ there,” Harry said. 

Louis nodded. And then he stood up so fast that the chair tipped and wobbled slightly before righting itself. 

“Bedroom,” Louis said, striding past Harry. “Now.” 

Harry stood up slowly, most of the blood in his body apparently heading directly towards his dick. 

“Get a move on,” Louis called from the bedroom. “Haven’t got all night.” 

They did though. Of course they did. They’d planned for exactly that. Harry kicked his shoes off under the coffee table and had just started to shrug his jacket off his shoulders when Louis called “And leave the suit on.” 

“Christ,” Harry murmured, taking the few steps across the soft carpet to the bedroom door. 

Louis was already naked, sitting back against an enormous pile of pillows, a smug smile on his face. He looked like a prince. Harry couldn’t possibly love him more. 

“Now come here and make me forget that peach-fucking bastard ever touched you.” 


End file.
